


Against the Darkness

by htbthomas



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Community: shipswap, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Injury Recovery, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:23:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6580879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/pseuds/htbthomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first few days are the darkest.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Set post-S2 and forward.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Against the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moontyger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta, coltdancer!

The first few days are the darkest. Kanan spends a lot of time in his bunk, lying on his side facing the wall. He leaves his food untouched. He doesn't respond to the chime of the door to his quarters, and Hera respects his need for privacy. For a while.

But when it has been too long, she opens the door anyway. He needs to eat, he needs his dressings changed, he needs to know that his crew is here for him. That she is here for him.

She sits beside him, her weight barely disturbing the plain, functional bedding on the _Ghost_. He doesn't stir, doesn't even move restlessly in his sleep. Because he is not asleep. But he doesn't speak, either.

It's times like this that she wishes she shared his sensitivity to The Force. That she could tell what he was feeling, what emotion was lurking there beneath the stillness. He can be stoic to a fault. Most of the time, she's more than glad Kanan is the Jedi, and she the pilot. But at this moment…

She can simply be here, though. She places a hand on his arm, a light pressure that doesn't expect anything. He doesn't react. And that's okay. Maybe she can't feel what he's feeling, but he can feel her. She wills all her love, all her comfort, into the pads of her fingers and palm.

Later, he doesn't complain when she changes the dressings, and he eats everything on the tray.

* * *

Not too many days later, he starts to walk the halls alone, when most of the crew is on sleep shift. The first time, It's just her and Chopper at the controls, so when she hears a thump and a bit-back curse, her head whips toward the sound. "Kanan?" she calls softly. Chopper trills a confirmation beside her: it is definitely Kanan.

She dithers for a moment—should she check to see if he's all right? What is he trying to prove? That he can navigate the ship without the help of The Force? She waits. He doesn't speak, doesn't respond to her call in anyway. But she hears his footfalls again, receding the other direction.

She decides to turn back to the controls. He's chosen a time of day when no one else would hear or see him banging around, so she'll respect that. But he must know she's awake; he must know she's there if he needs help.

Only once does he fall hard, and she's there, hand outstretched to help him up.

* * *

It is a surprise when she sees him training again. There's still no one else around—he's taken to shutting himself in his quarters when the rest of the crew is around. Except when Ezra needs him—he pretends that he's fine, that he's strong, that he's on the mend. He runs Ezra through his exercises, the model of patience and wisdom that the boy needs, especially after the business with Maul, but he doesn't let on that he's desperately fighting against giving up and going full desert hermit.

But Ezra knows. The shadows under his eyes show that he's pretending just as hard. And the rest of the crew knows what's going on, too. They don't bother Kanan with questions or idle conversation—only what is absolutely necessary for the day-to-day running of a ship. They don't bother Hera, either. Somehow they know that she's shouldering the emotional burden for everyone. And she is. But not because no one else can.

They've spent so many years together, she and Kanan, and they've gone through some terrible things. And every time she wonders, will this be it? The end of our fight?

She watches him while these thoughts run through her mind. He's wearing a helmet with the visor down, the way he teaches Ezra to do. To rely on The Force instead of his physical senses. With the loss of his sight, she doubts the helmet blocks the others—hearing, touch, smell, etc. Maybe it's the principle of it.

He runs through the forms with fluid grace. She's always been amazed at how beautiful he is. He must know she's watching, but he doesn't stop. Perhaps he works harder. Perhaps a sheen of sweat is forming on his brow, beneath the helmet…

When her comm beeps, he doesn't start or hitch. She watches him a second longer, then another. Then she goes back to the cockpit to see how she's needed.

* * *

One day when Sato is briefing the team of the latest mission, Kanan shows up. "I'm in."

Hera turns to look at him with an are-you-sure? glance, then realizes a moment too late he can't see it.

But he must feel it. "And, yes, I'm sure." He walks over to Hera and without hesitation or fumbling, threads his fingers through hers.

She squeezes them. And the smiles from around the holotable couldn't be wider, palpable relief coming off of everyone in waves so strong that one didn't need to be a Jedi to feel.

Sato doesn't question him. "Welcome back, Commander Jarrus."

When they go out, Kanan wears a visor over his eyes designed to give him a digital representation of the world around him, but he fights like he doesn't need it. He seems to recognize foes coming from all directions, firing on their enemies before she's even aware there's danger. He might as well have eyes in the back of his head, eyes that see through solid steel, at that.

That night, his hand trailing lightly down her back, she asks, "Why did you need the visor?" It's the first time she's directly and openly asked him about coping with his blindness. She's not sure if he'll answer.

But he does. "There are some things I can't sense. Like the control panel readouts, signs, and expressions on people's faces." 

She turns toward him. The wound across his eyes is almost healed now, the scarring still noticeable. He had refused the bacta tank, refusing to explain. But she knows—he wants a reminder of why they fight. Her heart swells with love for him. "I wish you could see my expression now."

"I don't need to." He touches his lips to hers. It's light but full of feeling. "I love you, too."

* * *

The celebration after the second Death Star is destroyed is not a staggeringly large affair like the first one. At least the way Hera had always heard—they were halfway across the galaxy from the battle when it happened. But this time they were in the thick of things, and partying in earnest. Over there, Ezra is laughing it up with some other pilots, and in another corner, Sabine is trading smuggling stories. Zeb is getting misty-eyed about finally joining his people while one of the Wookiees listens, nodding his or her head in agreement.

Kanan stands beside her, pulling on his uniform nervously. He's been sightless for over a decade, an experienced commander whose help has been instrumental in getting the Rebellion to this point, but at times he can still act like the awkward teenager Ezra was when they first brought him on board.

"He's just a man, you know," Hera says softly. "He's been a Jedi only a few years. You're probably ten times more skilled than he is. He should be nervous about meeting _you_."

"But he studied with Master _Yoda_."

"You studied with Master Yoda."

"I mean, really studied with him. They say he was there when Master Yoda died."

She doesn't argue with him, just looks with him at Luke Skywalker, the hero of the war. He's not being mobbed with admirers and congratulations. He just has a few of his closest friends with him—Leia Organa, Han Solo, Lando Calrissian—but none of them are really celebrating. Maybe they have the right of it. With such a loss of life on both sides, who really could?

Then Skywalker looks up toward them, as if he senses their attention on him. Of course he does. It's just like how Kanan turns toward the doorway before someone enters.

And instead of turning away again, he nods, then speaks quietly to his friends. He rises and walks toward them. Kanan's hands begin to clench and unclench. "Breathe," she reminds him, like he's her Padawan.

Skywalker holds out his hand, the mechanical one, toward Kanan and then Hera. "Commander Jarrus? Captain Syndulla?" At their nods, he continues. "I've heard great things about your team, especially from my sister, Leia." 

Siblings! She'd no idea. Was that common knowledge? Hera tries to control her surprise.

Not well enough. "You are surprised. But it is true—Leia is my sister. And we both believe the time for secrets is past."

Hera's heart swells. She's held onto hope that the people they've been following are worth the terrible price they've all paid. Maybe they really are.

"I'm very glad to hear that," Kanan says, the ghost of a smile of his lips.

"I thought you might be, _Master_ Jarrus." He holds out his hands toward Kanan. "We need to stand together in the coming days. You've trained your apprentice to overcome the Dark Side. Can I assume you will help me train the next generation in the fight against the darkness?"

Hera can see the weight lifting from Kanan's shoulders and face, and a full smile takes over. Amidst the glow of torch flames and sounds of celebration all around, he grasps Skywalker's hands in his in a gesture of solidarity. Hope for a new generation.


End file.
